


two classes, both alike in stupidity

by spookyfoot



Series: amnesty [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Amnesty, Humor, Identity Porn, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rough Draft, outsider pov, the professors shirogane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot
Summary: “I’ll see you in class Wednesday, then,” Shiro says, turning back to his desk. It’s a clear dismissal.Lance can’t find it within himself to leave, though. It’s the way that Keith is leaning into Shiro’s space. Like he belongs there like Shiro’s already consented to letting Keith inside of his personal bubble, and more than that, like he doesn’t mind. Like he wants Keith to be there, too.They’re still talking, but it’s too low for Lance to make out and Shiro takes a moment to break from his whispered conversation to look over Keith’s shoulder and wave.Lance leaves, but as he does, he can’t help remembering one important fact.Shiro is married.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: amnesty [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893115
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	two classes, both alike in stupidity

**Author's Note:**

> it's a long one folks. please note this is part of my amnesty collection, so it is a very rough unfinished draft.

It starts like this: 

Nadia flips open her phone to a string of texts in medias res. The content of them makes no sense since apparently context was something Lance and Pidge and Romelle and Hunk saved for the start of their thread. Which she hadn’t been free for. So she scrolls up and up and up and sees that it’s about some teacher. 

Boring. 

She figures that she’ll find out when she goes across town later today to take her afternoon classes at the university. 

Nadia’s not going to spend the money the university asks for on her GenEd courses, but all of her friends go to Garrison and she knows that she’ll end up there eventually.

Maybe by the time that she gets across campus this garbage will have died down. 

No such luck. 

In fact, she has no such luck for the rest of the semester, and by the time the fall semester is winding down, with winter break breathing down its neck, even she has a stake in things. 

Well, a monetary stake at least. She likes being part of the drama at Garrison even if she doesn’t actually go there yet. 

Plus, if she’s honest, her art class at Marmora is amazing and a kick ass counterpoint to the hours of Gen Ed memorization she’s had to do over the past couple of months. 

And she wants to win.

//

Professor Keith—no last name—as far as his students know, anyways, wasn’t supposed to teach this class. Professor Alforsson is usually the one to teach Introductory Figure Drawing but apparently Professor Alforsson had a family emergency and found a substitute at the last minute. 

Keith usually teaches the more advanced classes in addition to advising students about their transfer options if they’ve expressed interest and once they have the credit to do so. 

Nadia had seen him around during the first year orientation but if she’s honest she was ninety nine percent sure he was a student. Which, is where this whole tihng starts.

//

Orientation at a community college is a little bit more lowkey than the one at Garrison, but it’s still something that people turn out for and Ahn Auditorium is packed. 

But they’re not entirely separate affairs. The Garrison even has its own booth. 

  
  
  


It starts like this: two classes, both alike in stupidity, in fair University where we lay our scene, each desperately trying to figure out what the relationship between their professors is.

//

Actually, that’s not quite true. 

It starts earlier. 

It starts the first day of fall semester. 

//

[This is where Lance’s thing could go]

//

Above all things, Ina considers herself practical. Pants, sensible shoes, a hybrid car, and taking her GenEd Courses at the local community college rather than the Garrison. 

For her, all of these fall on the same continuum. 

She is an expert in patterns and probability which is why the human body fascinates her. DNA is, essentially, a matrix that generates endless sets of possibilities. Life drawing is a chance for her to get an up close and personal view, as well as to find a way to convey her subjective impression of what she sees. 

Keith—no last name, not even on the syllabus—

# //

There’s a man sitting in the back of the classroom, cool as anything, hard to read, feet propped up on the empty chair of the desk in front of him. It’s not as though anyone actually sits there. It’s not as though <i>Lance</i> actually sits there. But. What if he wanted to? Mostly, it’s the way that Professor Shirogane is Lance’s actual hero and Lance hates to see him being disrespected like this. It’s an insult in a class where everyone’s usually incredibly well behaved. Especially for an intro course. Professor Shirogane’s got an iron tight reign of control on his class but it’s like a reign made of out of sunshine, soft smiles, and unrequited longing.

None of which had been included on the syllabus, which was a gross oversight in Lance’s opinion, seeing as they occupied at least sixty percent of his classmates time and at close to one hundred percent of their hearts. Professor Shirogane was a menace to the GPA of anyone who took his classes. Or he would be if he weren’t also so insistent on making sure that his students had access to him and his office hours as much as was reasonably possible. And very often beyond what was reasonable, besides. 

Which is why seeing this absolute <i>punk</i> disrespecting the sanctity of Professor Shirogane’s classroom like this is enough to send Lance into a rage. 

The dude’s all casual energy. Acting like he ran out of fucks to give at the turn of the millennium. Lance is only one of legion who’ve sworn to die for Professor Shirogane since the moment he smiled at them during their first class when he introduced himself. All it had taken was a shy, sweet smile, a hand cupping the back of his blushing neck, and a promise that even though most of them were only taking this class to fulfill their GenEd requirement, he would do his best to make this as painless as possible. And maybe even fun. 

No grown man with tenure should look that adorable wearing a tie patterned with little cartoon illustrations of Saturn. But Lance is starting to suspect that Professor Shirogane isn’t entirely human. 

<i>Then again,</i> he thinks, eyeing the ponytailed leather jacket wearing douchebag that looks like he spent too many hours on Pinterest learning how to do fishtail braids, <i> that dude doesn’t look like he’s entirely human, either. </i>.

He can’t be. No human could ever look at Professor Shirogane with that sort of…proprietary nonchalance unless they had some alien DNA mixed up in their genetic cupcake batter.

Still. It’s weird. It’s mid semester, though that’s putting it kindly. Finals are lurking just around the month’s corner like a distant, dismal specter full of coffee and cough medicine. If this guy were interested in auditing Professor Shirogane’s class he should have gotten his ass in here before now. 

Professor Shirogane himself seems unconcerned by the force of this asshole’s stare. Lance can’t help but wonder if he’s been to some of Professor Shirogane’s other classes before now. Ones where Lance wasn’t there to make a bid for the good professor’s honor. 

“Alright, everyone take your seats,” Professor Shirogane says, shuffling his papers into a neat stack. It gives Lance the sense that he’s just killing time, which is unusual for him. Lance has always had the sense that Professor Shirogane is someone who moves with purpose at whatever he does. It’s in the way that he holds himself. And it’s not like Lance ws <i>looking </i> but that Professor Shirogane has a way about him that’s commanding and magnetic and hard to look away from. And maybe, just maybe, Lance was hoping to pick up a couple pointers. 

“Today we’ll be talking about the gravitational pull of Saturn’s moons,” Professor Shirogane says. He pulls at his tie a little and chuckles. The class immediately swells with laughter to mirror him. “As you all can see, I’ve dressed for the occasion.” 

Leather Jacket Asshole laughs. It’s a rough, harsh sound, and it lingers after everyone else has moved on from the joke. It’s hard not to notice. And it’s clear that its drawn Professor Shirogane’s attention too. He looks at Leather Jacket Asshole and his face does-something. Something Lance has never seen it do before. He’s not sure how to read it. It almost looks like-no, that can’t be right. 

But it’s gone just as quickly as it appears. Professor Shirogane turns away from Leather Jacket Asshole and scans through the rest of the seats. 

Professor Shirogane never takes roll. It’s sort of like how he told them to call him “Shiro” on the first day of class and Lance manages it most of the time but sometimes he forgets. Because it’s one thing to admire someone but it’s another to have the person that you admire constantly bringing themselves to your level and reminding you that the two of you aren’t that different. 

Maybe that’s part of why Lance feels so protective.

And why he’s so insistent that Leather Jacket Asshole not only doesn’t belong in this class but needs to get the hell out of here. 

Unfortunately, Leather Jacket Asshole doesn’t seem to have gotten the same memo. He’s still got his feet propped up on the chair in front of him, arms folded over his chest. He has a notebook on his desk but it’s fresh, the corners unbuttered, the cardboard cover free of creases. It’s a prop, nothing more. He hasn’t even looked at it the entire time they’ve been here. No. His eyes haven’t left Professor Shirogane-Shiro. 

Shiro looks a little flushed, the tips of his ears are red, but it’s hotter in the room than it is usually. Winter’s just begun to pluck fall’s last leaves from the campus’s trees and maintenance has taken that as an invitation to turn the heat up to a level that can only be described as “the fiery wrath of hell”. 

Lance regrets not pulling on a tank top beneath his sweater this morning.

“-Anyone?” Shiro asks. 

Shit. Right. Class started. Apparently everyone else was zoning out too, or maybe just mesmerized by the way the Professor’s biceps fill out his jacket. 

“Come on guys, we’ve been over this before, does anyone-“Shiro stops mid sentence, and when Lance follows his gaze, he sees that he’s staring at Leather Jacket Asshole. It’s a clear sign of the universe ending that he has his hand raised. And more than just that, he has a smug smile stretched across his lips even though his goddamned notebook <i>still</i> isn’t open. 

“Keith?”

Oh god. Lance was right. Shiro <i>does</i> know him. 

“Shiro.” 

“What are you doing?”

“Answering your question.” 

“Keith we’ve talked about this.”

“What? About how the [some sort of science bullshit that I will deal with later.]

“Um. Yes. That,” Shiro says. He’s still red and his hand is cupping the nape of his neck. “That’s right. Now, just like Keith said [more of the science bullshit that I have no idea about lol]

Shiro continues the rest of the lecture. And whether the rest of the class is embarrassed about being shown up or they just don’t want Shiro to have to deal with…whatever is going on between him and Keith, there are more hands raised for the rest of the class than there have been all semester. Even when a good amount of the answers are wrong. 

Lance raises his hand for every question. And his are (mostly) right. Even when he gets them wrong, it doesn’t stop him from shooting a smug glance at Keith. 

Keith looks distinctly unimpressed. 

But he doesn’t raise his hand again, so Lance considers the message sent. 

“Thanks for another great class,” Shiro says, clearly lying to them all. It’s probably one of the most uncomfortable lectures Lance has had the displeasure of sitting in on during his one (1) semester in college. 

“Keith. Can I see you after class?” 

“I don’t know, can you?” Keith says, still reclined at his desk. 

“<i>Keith</i>,” Shiro says, but, and Lance isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but it seems like he’s more fondly exasperated than angry. Which really doesn’t make any sense. 

“Office hours are cancelled for today, sorry everyone,” Shiro says, and an audible group groan ripples through the classroom. Finals are too close for them to miss out on any chance to review. As today’s class soundly demonstrated, they’ve all still got a good ways to go before they’ve mastered the material. 

“Don’t. worry, guys, I’ll be sure to send out an email tonight with make-up hours. I need to check my schedule to be sure, but count on my office being open some time in the afternoon tomorrow.” 

There’s a swell of chatter as people stream towards the door, waving goodbye to Shiro, and talking amongst themselves about how they’re going to re-arrange things so they can make his hours tomorrow. 

Lance lingers a little longer packing up his things. 

Keith lingers, too. Stretching leisurely in his seat before rising to his feet and strolling down the low slope of stairs that lead to the lecturer’s podium. 

“…we’ve talked about this….you can’t….I know you….” 

Lance can’t make out all of the Shiro’s words but what he does catch makes it clear that this isn’t just a one time thing. 

Makes sense. 

Keith looks like a consummate troublemaker. 

[ALTERNATE VERSION]

He outright saunters down the steps to Shiro’s lecturer’s podium, leaning against the wooden stand in a way that makes sure he gets right up into Shiro’s personal space. Lance drops the book he was sliding into his bag on the floor. It echoes. Keith doesn’t turn but Shiro does. 

“Lance, did you need something?” he asks. 

“Oh. Uh. No. Sorry,” Lance says, already wishing he’d thought of a potential excuse just in case. 

This time Keith does turn around and he looks amused and-is that pity?

Oh. That will <i>not</i> stand. 

“I’ll see you in class Wednesday, then,” Shiro says, turning back to his desk. It’s a clear dismissal. 

Lance can’t find it within himself to leave, though. It’s the way that Keith is leaning into Shiro’s space. Like he belongs there, like Shiro’s already consented to letting Keith inside of his personal bubble, and more than that, like he doesn’t mind. Like he wants Keith to be there, too. 

They’re still talking, but it’s too low for Lance to make out and Shiro takes a moment to break from his whispered conversation to look over Keith’s shoulder and wave. 

Lance leaves, but as he does, he can’t help remembering one important fact.

Shiro is married.

//

Keith keeps showing up in Shiro’s class. Not all the time. It’s random. Sometimes Mondays, sometimes Wednesdays, and never any pattern that Lance can make sense of. 

He never answers any other questions but he does open his notebooks. At first, Lance thinks that he’s actually taking notes. You know, like you’re supposed to in class. Even one that you’re apparently auditing. But when Lance takes a strategically timed bathroom break, he makes a point to glance at Keith’s notebooks. 

But there’s no writing on the pages.

There are lines, sure, but he’s not using them. Instead the pages are filled with drawings, some of them realistic renderings of other people in the class, others caricatures, but most of them are of Shiro.

All of them are good. 

Someone kicks Lance’s ankle.

“You’re blocking my view.” 

He leaves. But he can’t forget what he saw. 

//

And he makes it a point to say something to his friends at lunch the next day. 

“So. What do you know about Professor Shirogane?” He’s not going to call him “Shiro” in front of the others like that. Not gonna act so casual. Calling Professor Shirogane “Shiro” is a privilege you have to earn by actually taking his class and if any of these assholes were actually taking his class than Lance wouldn’t have to host this interrogation slash conversation. His friends really have no idea how much he does for them. 

Romelle picks at her food. “He seems nice. But distant. A little cold.” 

Lance frowns for a moment before shrugging it off. That’s not how he’d describe Shiro but he decides that he’ll put that down to being closer to him than most people get. Lance has always thought that his relationship with Shiro was a bit closer than the rest of his classmates and here’s some proof [i'm gonna have to add something about Shiro teaching more than one class/section.]

James just shrugs. He’s been strangely silent about the whole thing. Which isn’t like him considering he’s a Physics major and went to Lance’s high school. And was the one to suggest that Lance take Shiro’s class in the first place. 

“Professor Shirogane is Professor Shirogane. He’s good at his job. He talks about his husband a lot. I’m in his upper level and not Intro but I don’t think his basic personality’s gonna change much just because the depth of the subject matter has.” 

“Hmm,” Lance says. He’s more playing at thinking than actually thinking but he also doesn’t want James to have the last word. “There was.

//

Romelle. likes art. She likes the feel of a piece of charcoal clenched between her fingertips. She likes the way that the world around her changes when she takes the time to really look at it. She likes holding the tangible results of her efforts once it’s done. 

She also really likes her art class. Especially because two minutes in to the first day it’s clear that the professor brooks no bullshit. 

He tells them to call him Keith right off the bat, braid thrown over one shoulder, ring glinting in the light. He’s available during class but no so much afterwards. Romelle finds it hard to catch him during his mythical office hours.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t try, though. 

Lance spend his first day of college classes thanking the universe that his first choice required GenEd classes. 

Those were words he never expected to put together in a sentence without some sort of negation before the word “thankful.” 

Still. Past him had never met Professor Takashi “Call Me Shiro” Shirogane. 

Shiro is utterly incredible. Lance has never had any interest in physics before, now he’s considering switching from his major in communication to the sciences. It’s not that he’s changed, it’s that Shiro’s passion for physics is infectious. 

Shiro doesn’t even take roll. The class is too large for it, and he knows that for a lot of first year GenEd courses, people are more likely to learn out of their textbooks than from lectures if it means that they can grab a couple extra hours of sleep. 

But the seats in Shiro’s lecture are consistently full. 

[this part should probably go earlier, before that summary bit.]

Orientation week was a blur of beer, parties, and drunken promises to be life long friends. Out of that blur of pacts, only a few had stuck: Hunk, Pidge, Sven, and Romelle. 

There are still four years to go and it remains to be seen how well these fledgling bonds will hold up over the next seven semesters, but for now they’re good enough that they’re all having breakfast together before class every day during this first week of classes. 

“I don’t know why they make us take these courses,” Lance whines, poking at his eggs. There are little dry bits in between the runny parts and it’s an unsettling mix of textures. He grabs a piece of bread and makes it into a pale attempt at breakfast. sandwich, hoping that the toast will do enough to drown out the parts of his breakfast he’d rather not think about. He’s a growing boy (“Hah, sure,” Pidge says, “most men stop growing by sixteen but you’re welcome to keep telling yourself that.) he needs fuel. 

“Because they want us to be well rounded thinkers,” Hunk says. Lance isn’t sure why the dining hall serves pizza at breakfast, but Hunk’s loaded his up with bacon, sausage, and eggs, and somehow doctored it into something that looks more appealing than the sum of its’ parts. 

\\\

Lance challenges anyone and everyone not to fall in love with Professor Shirogane the moment they take his class.

Lance is still new. He’s a little too thrilled by the fact that his tuition is paying for the desks in Montgomery Hall to display a relatively minimal amount of graffiti

//

No one’s ready for the roar of a motorcycle rippling through the murmur-quiet air just outside of Dos Santos Hall. Lance is not quite late for class but he’s still a freshman and he’s promised himself that punctuality still means something. At least for his first semester. He’s halfway up the cobblestone path when it happens. There’s an asphalt half-loop that curves through campus, not wide enough for cars to do anything other than idle on by the curb as they load or unload their passengers. That doesn’t stop people from idling there, anyways. 

But the motorcycle isn’t idling. There are two figures sitting astride it. One tall, broad, and muscular, the other slightly shorter, and leaner. 

“Is that-“ Nadia asks. But she doesn’t have to even finish her question before the answer reveals itself. 

It is. 

//

Keith keeps showing up in Shiro’s class. Not all the time. It’s random. Sometimes Mondays, sometimes Wednesdays, and never any pattern that Lance can make sense of. 

He never answers any other questions but he does open his notebooks. At first, Lance thinks that he’s actually taking notes. You know, like you’re supposed to in class. Even one that you’re apparently auditing. But when Lance takes a strategically timed bathroom break, he makes a point to glance at Keith’s notebooks. 

But there’s no writing on the pages.

There are lines, sure, but he’s not using them. Instead the pages are filled with drawings, some of them realistic renderings of other people in the class, others caricatures, but most of them are of Shiro.

All of them are good. 

Someone kicks Lance’s ankle.

“You’re blocking my view.” 

He leaves. But he can’t forget what he saw. 

//

And he makes it a point to say something to his friends at lunch the next day. 

“So. What do you know about Professor Shirogane?” He’s not going to call him “Shiro” in front of the others like that. Not gonna act so casual. Calling Professor Shirogane “Shiro” is a privilege you have to earn by actually taking his class and if any of these assholes were actually taking his class than Lance wouldn’t have to host this interrogation slash conversation. His friends really have no idea how much he does for them. 

Romelle picks at her food. “He seems nice. But distant. A little cold.” 

Lance frowns for a moment before shrugging it off. That’s not how he’d describe Shiro but he decides that he’ll put that down to being closer to him than most people get. Lance has always thought that his relationship with Shiro was a bit closer than the rest of his classmates and here’s some proof [i'm gonna have to add something about Shiro teaching more than one class/section.]

James just shrugs. He’s been strangely silent about the whole thing. Which isn’t like him considering he’s a Physics major and went to Lance’s high school. And was the one to suggest that Lance take Shiro’s class in the first place. 

“Professor Shirogane is Professor Shirogane. He’s good at his job. He talks about his husband a lot. I’m in his upper level and not Intro but I don’t think his basic personality’s gonna change much just because the depth of the subject matter has.” 

“Hmm,” Lance says. He’s more playing at thinking than actually thinking but he also doesn’t want James to have the last word. “There was.

//

Romelle. likes art. She likes the feel of a piece of charcoal clenched between her fingertips. She likes the way that the world around her changes when she takes the time to really look at it. She likes holding the tangible results of her efforts once it’s done. 

She also really likes her art class. Especially because two minutes in to the first day it’s clear that the professor brooks no bullshit. 

He tells them to call him Keith right off the bat, braid thrown over one shoulder, ring glinting in the light. He’s available during class but no so much afterwards. Romelle finds it hard to catch him during his mythical office hours.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t try, though. 

Lance spend his first day of college classes thanking the universe that his first choice required GenEd classes. 

Those were words he never expected to put together in a sentence without some sort of negation before the word “thankful.” 

Still. Past him had never met Professor Takashi “Call Me Shiro” Shirogane. 

Shiro is utterly incredible. Lance has never had any interest in physics before, now he’s considering switching from his major in communication to the sciences. It’s not that he’s changed, it’s that Shiro’s passion for physics is infectious. 

Shiro doesn’t even take roll. The class is too large for it, and he knows that for a lot of first year GenEd courses, people are more likely to learn out of their textbooks than from lectures if it means that they can grab a couple extra hours of sleep. 

But the seats in Shiro’s lecture are consistently full. 

[this part should probably go earlier, before that summary bit.]

Orientation week was a blur of beer, parties, and drunken promises to be life long friends. Out of that blur of pacts, only a few had stuck: Hunk, Pidge, Sven, and Romelle. 

There are still four years to go and it remains to be seen how well these fledgling bonds will hold up over the next seven semesters, but for now they’re good enough that they’re all having breakfast together before class every day during this first week of classes. 

“I don’t know why they make us take these courses,” Lance whines, poking at his eggs. There are little dry bits in between the runny parts and it’s an unsettling mix of textures. He grabs a piece of bread and makes it into a pale attempt at a breakfast. sandwich, hoping that the toast will do enough to drown out the parts of his breakfast he’d rather not think about. He’s a growing boy (“Hah, sure,” Pidge says, “most men stop growing by sixteen but you’re welcome to keep telling yourself that.) he needs fuel. 

“Because they want us to be well rounded thinkers,” Hunk says. Lance isn’t sure why the dining hall serves pizza at breakfast, but Hunk’s loaded his up with bacon, sausage, and eggs, and somehow doctored it into something that looks more appealing than the sum of its’ parts. 

\\\

Lance challenges anyone and everyone not to fall in love with Professor Shirogane the moment they take his class.

Lance is still new. He’s a little too thrilled by the fact that his tuition is paying for the desks in Montgomery Hall to display a relatively minimal amount of graffiti

//

No one’s ready for the roar of a motorcycle rippling through the murmur-quiet air just outside of Dos Santos Hall. Lance is not quite late for class but he’s still a freshman and he’s promised himself that punctuality still means something. At least for his first semester. He’s halfway up the cobblestone path when it happens. There’s an asphalt half-loop that curves through campus, not wide enough for cars to do anything other than idle on by the curb as they load or unload their passengers. That doesn’t stop people from idling there, anyways. 

But the motorcycle isn’t idling. There are two figures sitting astride it. One tall, broad, and muscular, the other slightly shorter, and leaner. 

“Is that-“ Nadia asks. But she doesn’t have to even finish her question before the answer reveals itself. 

It is. 

//

There’s a man sitting in the back of the classroom, cool as anything, hard to read, feet propped up on the empty chair of the desk in front of him. It’s not as though anyone actually sits there. It’s not as though <i>Lance</i> actually sits there. But. What if he wanted to? Mostly, it’s the way that Professor Shirogane is Lance’s actual hero and Lance hates to see him being disrespected like this. It’s an insult in a class where everyone’s usually incredibly well behaved. Especially for an intro course. Professor Shirogane’s got an iron tight reign of control on his class but it’s like a reign made of out of sunshine, soft smiles, and unrequited longing.

None of which had been included on the syllabus, which was a gross oversight in Lance’s opinion, seeing as they occupied at least sixty percent of his classmates time and at close to one hundred percent of their hearts. Professor Shirogane was a menace to the GPA of anyone who took his classes. Or he would be if he weren’t also so insistent on making sure that his students had access to him and his office hours as much as was reasonably possible. And very often beyond what was reasonable, besides. 

Which is why seeing this absolute <i>punk</i> disrespecting the sanctity of Professor Shirogane’s classroom like this is enough to send Lance into a rage. 

The dude’s all casual energy. Acting like he ran out of fucks to give at the turn of the millennium. Lance is only one of legion who’ve sworn to die for Professor Shirogane since the moment he smiled at them during their first class when he introduced himself. All it had taken was a shy, sweet smile, a hand cupping the back of his blushing neck, and a promise that even though most of them were only taking this class to fulfill their GenEd requirement, he would do his best to make this as painless as possible. And maybe even fun. 

No grown man with tenure should look that adorable wearing a tie patterned with little cartoon illustrations of Saturn. But Lance is starting to suspect that Professor Shirogane isn’t entirely human. 

<i>Then again,</i> he thinks, eyeing the ponytailed leather jacket wearing douchebag that looks like he spent too many hours on Pinterest learning how to do fishtail braids, <i> that dude doesn’t look like he’s entirely human, either. </i>.

He can’t be. No human could ever look at Professor Shirogane with that sort of…proprietary nonchalance unless they had some alien DNA mixed up in their genetic cupcake batter.

Still. It’s weird. It’s mid semester, though that’s putting it kindly. Finals are lurking just around the month’s corner like a distant, dismal specter full of coffee and cough medicine. If this guy were interested in auditing Professor Shirogane’s class he should have gotten his ass in here before now. 

Professor Shirogane himself seems unconcerned by the force of this asshole’s stare. Lance can’t help but wonder if he’s been to some of Professor Shirogane’s other classes before now. Ones where Lance wasn’t there to make a bid for the good professor’s honor. 

“Alright, everyone take your seats,” Professor Shirogane says, shuffling his papers into a neat stack. It gives Lance the sense that he’s just killing time, which is unusual for him. Lance has always had the sense that Professor Shirogane is someone who moves with purpose at whatever he does. It’s in the way that he holds himself. And it’s not like Lance ws <i>looking </i> but that Professor Shirogane has a way about him that’s commanding and magnetic and hard to look away from. And maybe, just maybe, Lance was hoping to pick up a couple pointers. 

“Today we’ll be talking about the gravitational pull of Saturn’s moons,” Professor Shirogane says. He pulls at his tie a little and chuckles. The class immediately swells with laughter to mirror him. “As you all can see, I’ve dressed for the occasion.” 

Leather Jacket Asshole laughs. It’s a rough, harsh sound, and it lingers after everyone else has moved on from the joke. It’s hard not to notice. And it’s clear that its drawn Professor Shirogane’s attention too. He looks at Leather Jacket Asshole and his face does-something. Something Lance has never seen it do before. He’s not sure how to read it. It almost looks like-no, that can’t be right. 

But it’s gone just as quickly as it appears. Professor Shirogane turns away from Leather Jacket Asshole and scans through the rest of the seats. 

Professor Shirogane never takes roll. It’s sort of like how he told them to call him “Shiro” on the first day of class and Lance manages it most of the time but sometimes he forgets. Because it’s one thing to admire someone but it’s another to have the person that you admire constantly bringing themselves to your level and reminding you that the two of you aren’t that different. 

Maybe that’s part of why Lance feels so protective.

And why he’s so insistent that Leather Jacket Asshole not only doesn’t belong in this class but needs to get the hell out of here. 

Unfortunately, Leather Jacket Asshole doesn’t seem to have gotten the same memo. He’s still got his feet propped up on the chair in front of him, arms folded over his chest. He has a notebook on his desk but it’s fresh, the corners unbuttered, the cardboard cover free of creases. It’s a prop, nothing more. He hasn’t even looked at it the entire time they’ve been here. No. His eyes haven’t left Professor Shirogane-Shiro. 

Shiro looks a little flushed, the tips of his ears are red, but it’s hotter in the room than it is usually. Winter’s just begun to pluck fall’s last leaves from the campus’s trees and maintenance has taken that as an invitation to turn the heat up to a level that can only be described as “the fiery wrath of hell”. 

Lance regrets not pulling on a tank top beneath his sweater this morning.

“-Anyone?” Shiro asks. 

Shit. Right. Class started. Apparently everyone else was zoning out too, or maybe just mesmerized by the way the Professor’s biceps fill out his jacket. 

“Come on guys, we’ve been over this before, does anyone-“Shiro stops mid sentence, and when Lance follows his gaze, he sees that he’s staring at Leather Jacket Asshole. It’s a clear sign of the universe ending that he has his hand raised. And more than just that, he has a smug smile stretched across his lips even though his goddamned notebook <i>still</i> isn’t open. 

“Keith?”

Oh god. Lance was right. Shiro <i>does</i> know him. 

“Shiro.” 

“What are you doing?”

“Answering your question.” 

“Keith we’ve talked about this.”

“What? About how the [some sort of science bullshit that I will deal with later.]

“Um. Yes. That,” Shiro says. He’s still red and his hand is cupping the nape of his neck. “That’s right. Now, just like Keith said [more of the science bullshit that I have no idea about lol]

Shiro continues the rest of the lecture. And whether the rest of the class is embarrassed about being shown up or they just don’t want Shiro to have to deal with…whatever is going on between him and Keith, there are more hands raised for the rest of the class than there have been all semester. Even when a good amount of the answers are wrong. 

Lance raises his hand for every question. And his are (mostly) right. Even when he gets them wrong, it doesn’t stop him from shooting a smug glance at Keith. 

Keith looks distinctly unimpressed. 

But he doesn’t raise his hand again, so Lance considers the message sent. 

“Thanks for another great class,” Shiro says, clearly lying to them all. It’s probably one of the most uncomfortable lectures Lance has had the displeasure of sitting in on during his one (1) semester in college. 

“Keith. Can I see you after class?” 

“I don’t know, can you?” Keith says, still reclined at his desk. 

“<i>Keith</i>,” Shiro says, but, and Lance isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but it seems like he’s more fondly exasperated than angry. Which really doesn’t make any sense. 

“Office hours are cancelled for today, sorry everyone,” Shiro says, and an audible group groan ripples through the classroom. Finals are too close for them to miss out on any chance to review. As today’s class soundly demonstrated, they’ve all still got a good ways to go before they’ve mastered the material. 

“Don’t. worry, guys, I’ll be sure to send out an email tonight with make-up hours. I need to check my schedule to be sure, but count on my office being open some time in the afternoon tomorrow.” 

There’s a swell of chatter as people stream towards the door, waving goodbye to Shiro, and talking amongst themselves about how they’re going to re-arrange things so they can make his hours tomorrow. 

Lance lingers a little longer packing up his things. 

Keith lingers, too. Stretching leisurely in his seat before rising to his feet and strolling down the low slope of stairs that lead to the lecturer’s podium. 

“…we’ve talked about this….you can’t….I know you….” 

Lance can’t make out all of the Shiro’s words but what he does catch makes it clear that this isn’t just a one time thing. 

Makes sense. 

Keith looks like a consummate troublemaker. 

//

He outright saunters down the steps to Shiro’s lecturer’s podium, leaning against the wooden stand in a way that makes sure he gets right up into Shiro’s personal space. Lance drops the book he ws sliding into his bag on the floor. It echoes. Keith doesn’t turn but Shiro does. 

“Lance, did you need something?” he asks. 

“Oh. Uh. No. Sorry,” Lance says, already wishing he’d thought of a potential excuse just in case. 

This time Keith does turn around and he looks amused and-is that pity?

Oh. That will <i>not</i> stand. 

“I’ll see you in class Wednesday, then,” Shiro says, turning back to his desk. It’s a clear dismissal. 

Lance can’t find it within himself to leave, though. It’s the way that Keith is leaning into Shiro’s space. Like he belongs there, like Shiro’s already consented to letting Keith inside of his personal bubble, and more than that, like he doesn’t mind. Like he wants Keith to be there, too. 

They’re still talking, but it’s too low for Lance to make out and Shiro takes a moment to break from his whispered conversation to look over Keith’s shoulder and wave. 

Lance leaves, but as he does, he can’t help remembering one important fact.

Shiro is married

//

Keith keeps showing up in Shiro’s class. Not all the time. It’s random. Sometimes Mondays, sometimes Wednesdays, and never any pattern that Lance can make sense of. 

He never answers any other questions but he does open his notebooks. At first, Lance thinks that he’s actually taking notes. You know, like you’re supposed to in class. Even one that you’re apparently auditing. But when Lance takes a strategically timed bathroom break, he makes a point to glance at Keith’s notebooks. 

But there’s no writing on the pages.

There are lines, sure, but he’s not using them. Instead the pages are filled with drawings, some of them realistic renderings of other people in the class, others caricatures, but most of them are of Shiro.

All of them are good. 

Someone kicks Lance’s ankle.

“You’re blocking my view.” 

He leaves. But he can’t forget what he saw. 

//

And he makes it a point to say something to his friends at lunch the next day. 

“So. What do you know about Professor Shirogane?” He’s not going to call him “Shiro” in front of the others like that. Not gonna act so casual. Calling Professor Shirogane “Shiro” is a privilege you have to earn by actually taking his class and if any of these assholes were actually taking his class than Lance wouldn’t have to host this interrogation slash conversation. His friends really have no idea how much he does for them. 

Romelle picks at her food. “He seems nice. But distant. A little cold.” 

Lance frowns for a moment before shrugging it off. That’s not how he’d describe Shiro but he decides that he’ll put that down to being closer to him than most people get. Lance has always thought that his relationship with Shiro was a bit closer than the rest of his classmates and here’s some proof [i'm gonna have to add something about Shiro teaching more than one class/section.]

James just shrugs. He’s been strangely silent about the whole thing. Which isn’t like him considering he’s a Physics major and went to Lance’s high school. And was the one to suggest that Lance take Shiro’s class in the first place. 

“Professor Shirogane is Professor Shirogane. He’s good at his job. He talks about his husband a lot. I’m in his upper level and not Intro but I don’t think his basic personality’s gonna change much just because the depth of the subject matter has.” 

“Hmm,” Lance says. He’s more playing at thinking than actually thinking but he also doesn’t want James to have the last word. “There was.

//

Romelle. likes art. She likes the feel of a piece of charcoal clenched between her fingertips. She likes the way that the world around her changes when she takes the time to really look at it. She likes holding the tangible results of her efforts once it’s done. 

She also really likes her art class. Especially because two minutes in to the first day it’s clear that the professor brooks no bullshit. 

He tells them to call him Keith right off the bat, braid thrown over one shoulder, ring glinting in the light. He’s available during class but no so much afterwards. Romelle finds it hard to catch him during his mythical office hours.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t try, though. 

Lance spend his first day of college classes thanking the universe that his first choice required GenEd classes. 

Those were words he never expected to put together in a sentence without some sort of negation before the word “thankful.” 

Still. Past him had never met Professor Takashi “Call Me Shiro” Shirogane. 

Shiro is utterly incredible. Lance has never had any interest in physics before, now he’s considering switching from his major in communication to the sciences. It’s not that he’s changed, it’s that Shiro’s passion for physics is infectious. 

Shiro doesn’t even take roll. The class is too large for it, and he knows that for a lot of first year GenEd courses, people are more likely to learn out of their textbooks than from lectures if it means that they can grab a couple extra hours of sleep. 

But the seats in Shiro’s lecture are consistently full. 

[this part should probably go earlier, before that summary bit.]

Orientation week was a blur of beer, parties, and drunken promises to be life long friends. Out of that blur of pacts, only a few had stuck: Hunk, Pidge, Sven, and Romelle. 

There are still four years to go and it remains to be seen how well these fledgling bonds will hold up over the next seven semesters, but for now they’re good enough that they’re all having breakfast together before class every day during this first week of classes. 

“I don’t know why they make us take these courses,” Lance whines, poking at his eggs. There are little dry bits in between the runny parts and it’s an unsettling mix of textures. He grabs a piece of bread and makes it into a pale attempt at a breakfast. sandwich, hoping that the toast will do enough to drown out the parts of his breakfast he’d rather not think about. He’s a growing boy (“Hah, sure,” Pidge says, “most men stop growing by sixteen but you’re welcome to keep telling yourself that.) he needs fuel. 

“Because they want us to be well rounded thinkers,” Hunk says. Lance isn’t sure why the dining hall serves pizza at breakfast, but Hunk’s loaded his up with bacon, sausage, and eggs, and somehow doctored it into something that looks more appealing than the sum of its’ parts. 

\\\

Lance challenges anyone and everyone not to fall in love with Professor Shirogane the moment they take his class.

Lance is still new. He’s a little too thrilled by the fact that his tuition is paying for the desks in Montgomery Hall to display a relatively minimal amount of graffiti

//

No one’s ready for the roar of a motorcycle rippling through the murmur-quiet air just outside of Dos Santos Hall. Lance is not quite late for class but he’s still a freshman and he’s promised himself that punctuality still means something. At least for his first semester. He’s halfway up the cobblestone path when it happens. There’s an asphalt half-loop that curves through campus, not wide enough for cars to do anything other than idle on by the curb as they load or unload their passengers. That doesn’t stop people from idling there, anyways. 

But the motorcycle isn’t idling. There are two figures sitting astride it. One tall, broad, and muscular, the other slightly shorter, and leaner. 

“Is that-“ Nadia asks. But she doesn’t have to even finish her question before the answer reveals itself. 

It is. 

//

Ryan always gets to studio hours earlier. It lets him get set up, get his headphones on, and carefully put off a “do not disturb me if you want to live” kind of vibe. 

It’s a little intense, sure, but so art his fellow art students. 

He learned that the hard way. He also learned a lot about synthetic psychics and how Pitchfork is overrated. 

Never. Again. 

Suffice it to say that Kinkade is very familiar with the habits and affectations of his fellow art students. 

Which is how he knows right away that the group walking in are definitely not art students and, in fact, have probably never set foot in an art studio in their lives. 

Well, aside from Romelle, who’s helping him with his Sight and Sound project. 

The others though. They look like someone’s stereotypical idea of an art student run through a spin cycle a few too many times and then covered in glitter to hide how much the colors have faded. 

It’s not pretty.

Not to mention it draws more attention to them than if they’d just come here in their normal clothes. 

But you know what? That’s not Ryan’s problem. Ryan has heard enough of other people’s problems during open studio hours to host his own daytime talk show for the next three years. 

Hence, the headphones. 

He’s not going to engage. He knows better. He goes back to warming up by drawing loose gesture sketches of poses on his phone. The model isn’t here yet, but Ryan’s also had models come to him for a heart to heart, and then go up on the raised platform and bare themselves literally after already baring themselves figuratively. 

So, yeah. He’s learned: keep to yourself, keep busy, don’t make eye contact, keep your headphones on. Even if there’s no music playing. 

Keith’s late, though. Ryan frowns but it’s not unusual especially considering how legendary he is for seeing his office hours as more of a guideline than a code. Which is why so many people end up coming to open studio hours, when they know they can catch him. 

But. Unusually, Keith’s office door is closed and there’s a small shard of light slipping out from under the door. 

No. You know what? It’s none of his business. 

The tragically dressed group of “art students” sets themselves down a few eagles away, which means one of them ends up sitting right next to Ryan. 

Of course. 

It figures. 

As long as they keep to themselves it’ll be fine. The session should be starting soon and Ryan’s got both earbuds in. 

He’s ready. 

As it turns out, so are they. 

“Lance, do you see him?” one of them whispers. Ryan’s not going to turn to look, not going to give them the realization that he doesn’t actually have any music on and can hear everything that they’re saying. 

“No. Still nothing,” the one who must be Lance replies. “If he doesn’t get here soon I’m gonna scream.” 

“Yeah, because that would really be the definition of stealth,” the first one says, dry as bone. 

Ryan bites back a laugh. They’re right. Then again, it’s not like their attempt at stealth was going well, anyways, but he’ll let them labor under the delusion that it did because telling them otherwise would mean involving himself in their problems. 

As it is, he can watch and listen from a safe distance and maybe use this in a story, or something. 

After all, isn’t that what art and drawing is about? Observation? 

Ryan tries to think about that but Lance and Co. aren’t particularly quiet about their fears and it turns out that Ryan’s thoughts aren’t loud enough to compete. 

“We don’t have a plan B, Pidge!” 

“You could, oh I don’t know, talk to him in class next time he’s there.” 

“We don’t know when that is and besides, I may have…done…something…” 

“You <i>what?</i>”

“I may have looked in his notebook when he went to the bathroom. It was full of sketches. Of Shiro.” [Not sure about this? It might make the husband thing too obvious.]

“Cool. Totally casual invasion of privacy.” 

“Oh, like sneaking into studio hours to spy on him isn’t. Sure Pidge, sure.”

“Really? You’re just gonna come out and say it like that? So much for stealth.” 

Yeah, but that ship sailed a long long time ago, Ryan thinks, so quietly that you all didn’t even notice it ws gone. Which isn’t the greatest look for a covert mission. 

Keith isn’t here yet but the model is, loitering in a robe out on the fringes of the classroom. 

Ryan feels a little sorry for her. This isn’t their normal atmosphere, she has no idea what sort of disaster she’s stepped in to. Then again, neither did Ryan when he showed up today. 

Maybe disaster bands people together but would still prefer “disaster free.”

And then. Keith’s office door opens just a hair, spilling out a bright sliver of light. 

There’s a voice that Ryan <i>thinks</i> sounds familiar, but he can’t say for sure. Judging by the looks on the disaster trio’s faces, that might be for the best. 

“What.”

“<i>What</i.>” 

“What the hell?” 

A tall, statuesque man with a shock of white hair emerges from the office then pauses and turns to look back. “I’ll see you at home,” he says. 

When he spots the disaster trio he gives them a cheery wave, clearly either not sensing or not giving a fuck about their discomfort. He looks a little rumpled but it’s been a long day, especially if he’s been on campus since this morning so Ryan will give him a pass. 

The man leaves, and a few minutes pass before Keith comes out of his office, too, name plate catching the light. 

“K. Shirogane.” 

“<i>Oh</i>,” Lance says, knowingly. But there’s something about the way he says it that makes Ryan think he’s still arrived at the wrong conclusion. 

Or maybe it’s just the beret. 

//

“Definitely his brother,” Lance says, as they head to physics the next day. “I mean, those cheekbones have to be genetic, you don’t just, wind up with those. I would know, look at me,” Lance says striking a pose. 

“Yeah, you definitely could have used some of that luck,” Pidge says, not even looking up from her phone. 

Wow. Savage. 

Hunk doesn’t laugh but only because Lance’s ego is a fragile thing and Hunk’s feeling particularly kind. 

Or maybe just hoping Lance will finally let this go now that he’s gotten to the bottom of the mystery. 

“Wow. Rude,” Lance says. He kicks a rock unfortunate enough to find its way onto the path in front of them. 

“Look we got answers, they weren’t that interesting. End of,” Pidge says. When Hunk peers over her shoulder (it’s not like it’s hard) he sees she’s on the home page for [some sort of physics news site]. 

Yeah. She’s over it. 

Lance tries to catch her attention again the whole way to class but she’s not having it. Hunks left to watch the sparks. 

They take their usual seats when they get to the lecture hall. 

Keith’s there, and Lance shoots him a knowing look. Keith smirks, waves, and then turns to face forward. 

“Why are you like this?” Hunk asks. Because, really, just leave the dude alone if he wants to support his brother by sitting in on his classes. It’s actually something he could imagine Pidge doing. 

“Knock it off, Lance,” Hunk says. 

Pidge doesn’t even bother giving him a warning, just jabs her elbow into his side. Hunk winces. That’s gotta hurt. Pidge has really bony elbows-he learned that the hard way. 

“Good morning everyone,” Shiro says, as he leaves his desk to head up to the podium. Immediately the class falls into a hush. 

“Well at least he respects his brother,” Lance mutters. Hunk really shouldn’t feed Lance’s (clearly not over) fascination by glancing over but he’s not a saint and also he already knows what’s coming up on the syllabus. 

So he looks. 

Sure enough Keith looks rapt, and there’s, well, there’s no other way to put it than that there’s a softness to his face that wasn’t there before. He’s got a pen pressed to his paper but it’s not moving and he hasn’t looked down at his notebook in a couple minutes. 

It’s sweet, but Hunk’s not sure it’s…brotherly. 

Still he doesn’t say anything. He just wants this to be done.

Lance is still smugly satisfied when they leave class. It’s like the cat who got the cream if the cream were making invasive investigations into someone’s personal life. 

“So glad that mystery is finally solved,” Lance says for what must be the millionth time that day. 

Hunk’s just glad it’s over. 

“And! Guess what came in the mail, yesterday!” Lance says, he digs into his pocket and then pauses, eyes wide, before he starts [digging] around again. “Where is it, where is it, where is it?” Lance says, and now he’s searching the other pocket and the two in back and then his book bag. 

“Where’s what?” Pidge asks, though she still seems uninterested. Hunk has another class in an hour so his investment in the sitatuion is under a strict time crunch unlike Lance.

“My limited edition Zoltron keychain! That thing cost me fifty bucks on eBay and I had to stay up all night bidding against some asshole with the handle ThUNdErStoRMDaRKNesS. We need to go back,” Lance says. He’s already turning on his heel to make his way back to [Dos Santos Hall].

Hunk looks at Pidge who shrugs. 

“Come on! You have to help me look,” Lance whines, turning back for a moment to flails his hands at them.

It’s not his best look. 

“Fine,” Hunk says, because if this situaiton has taught (or re-taught) him anything it’s that Lance with an obsession is relentless and very loud about it. 

“Alright.” Pidge says. 

They make their way back to the lecture hall. The hallways in this building are mostly empty this time of day and the clatter of their tennis shoes echoes on the tile. It’s still relatively early, and there’s sun slanting through the long windows cut high up on the wall. 

It’s not that far to the lecture hall, and the door’s still open, thankfully. 

The hall’s gone dark. Hunk’s part of the university’s program to reduce their energy emissions along with his friend (and yes, maybe crush) Shay and he’s happy to see that the auto timers they convinced the administartion to invest in are doing their jobs.

(And here’s where they make one mistake, they see that the door’s open and the lights are off, so they assume that it’s empty.

It’s not.

Not by a long shot.)

Shiro’s still there, but he’s leaning against his desk, relaxed in a way that Hunk’s never seen him during class. Or during office hours. Or. Ever.

And Keith’s there too, crowded into Shiro’s space, one hand resting on the desk just next to his hip. 

And then Keith leans in for a kiss. 

Shiro doesn’t stop him. 

Hunk has to cover Lance’s mouth to keep him from screaming and Lance licks his palm in retaliation but really, he’s been friends with Lance long enough that Lance’s spit doesn’t bother him. If it did, their frienship would have been over a long long time ago.

“Lance. He’s not supposed to know that we’re here!” 

Lance opens his mouth to say something they’ll all probably regret but then they hear Keith saying goobye and he slips out the door right past them. Shiro lingers for a few minutes, putting his papers together. 

Then his phone rings. 

“Hey. Yeah I’m almost ready, just getting the last of my things. See you out front?”

A pause as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. 

“See you soon. Love you.” 

Lance is furious. Hunk hasn’t seen him this mad since they [cancelled some tv show that’s funny].

“We need to tell Shiro’s husband that Shiro’s cheating on him with another professor. Who’s also his brother.” 

  
  


“So. You’re saying this is incest?” 

“Nah. They’re probably adopted. I’m not racist.” 

“Dude you said those cheekbones had to be genetic.”

“Details.”

“Lance. Really. This. This isn’t a soap opera.” 

“Shiro’s husband deserves to know!” Lance fumes. 

He’s already stomping down into the mess of seats. His keychain is <i>right there</i> and Hunk’s not sure how he just. Dropped it like this. But whatever. 

“We have to go tell Shiro’s husband now! This might be our only chance!”

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea to meddle in our professor’s personal life like this,” Hunk says. 

“Yeah, no matter how messed up it is, if that’s what’s happening,it’s still not any of our business. We should just stay out of this.”

“Little asshole thinks he can get away with it,” Lance says. And he starts stalking off towards the semi-circle drive where they’ve seen Shiro’s husband drop him off in the morning.

Lance moves slow normally, but man is he fast when he’s angry. They reach the loop at top speed, and just in time, too. The roar of a motorcyle approaches. Shiro’s on the curb, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. The motorcycle pulls up right in front of him with an extra loud rev of its engine and Shiro laughs.

They’re close enough now that they can hear that Shiro’s still speaking, though not close enough to make out the words just yet. 

They keep moving. 

“-got here pretty fast,” Shiro says as his husband [activates?] the kick stand and turns of the engine. 

Although they can’t hear it, Shiro’s husband says something that makes him flush. 

“I don’t get it,” Lance mutters, “they seem so happy.” 

That’s when Shiro spots them. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you guys before Wednesday’s class,” he says. 

“Well we didn’t expect to see you kissing your adopted brother, either,” Lance says because despite the elaborate speech Hunk heard him muttering on the way over, Lance doesn’t do that well under pressure. 

Shiro raises an eyebrow, “I don’t have a brother.” 

“Of course you do, he’s like this tall,” Lance holds out a hand to demonstrate, “angry eyebrows, terrible fashion sense, long braid, leather jacket, art professor? Same last name?”

Shiro bursts out laughing. “Oh. Wow. Well this is a new one, right?” He turns to look at his husband as he says this. 

His husband shrugs and gets off his bike and starts to take off his helmet. “I guess it’s time for you guys to officially meet my husband, Keith.” 

Hunk’s never seen someone go pale, red, then pale again so quickly as Lance does in that moment. That sort of rapid bloodflow can’t be healthy. 

“Your <i>husband? </i>”

“Actually yeah that makes a lot more sense than the adopted brother thing,” Pidge looks at Lance.

//

Keith and Shiro have a bet. It’s year running and a long standing joke between the two of them and their friends. Well the bet’s sort of a joke, it’s taking advantage of a long standing campus curiousity and the fact that all four year institutions rotate in new students on a yearly basis. 

For some, the bet is almost like a rite of passge. 

For Keith and Shiro, it’s more like “who’s going to pay for this year’s anniversary dinner.” 

Shiro started at Garrison University five years ago, one of the youngest professors ever to get a full time professorship off the bat. And then tenure a few years after on top of it. Garrison University had gone after Takashi Shirogane with an undeniable hunger and they weren’t willing to let go of their prize so easily. 

So they added incentives. 

Keith worked as an assistant at Marmora University, just across town, a smaller, but just as prestigious school. 

Keith started working at Garrison University three years after Shiro did. 

Ten years before that [check the linelines you nitwit], Keith and Shiro met in an undergraduate seminar about the properties of black holes. 

Shiro, a first year grad student, was the course’s teaching assistant. 

Keith, a junior transfer from a local community college, was the kid who never seemed to pay attention in class, always doodling when he was supposed to be taking notes, and yet every time, without fail, he’d turn in a test that was meticulously and perfectly written. Everything was always correct, and there was more than a littl evidence that he’d taken the problems presented to him above and beyond the scope of the class. 

Beyond the scope of the undergraduate curriculum, actually. 

But he was also always the first to leave, and Shiro, for some reason, was very very popular with the other undergrads. 

(“It’s because you’re hot,” Keith had told him later, on what would, in retrospect, become their first date.

Shiro had protested with a flush but Keith insisted he was just being modest.)

But, ironically, they’d met when Shiro had come in to model for Keith’s life drawing class. 

At the break, Shiro made small talk with Keith, wrapped in a thin, silky polyester robe, knowing that Keith had just had a front row view of his dick a few minutes earlier. 

“You had a more difficult time holding the poses then I expected.” 

“Hey, be gentle, it’s my first time,” Shiro said. He’d flushed a little as he realized what it sounded like, but he couldn’t take it back, so he tried to cover it with a smirk. 

Keith didn’t look convinced but he still kept talking to him and even looked him in the eye, later while in the middle of a set of gesture drawings. 

And then, the next day in class, there were more shared looks, little smirks, soft comments that only Shiro could hear whenever he went around to hand back tests. 

A whole semester of that, of knowing how much he wanted to see Shiro outside of class, knwoing that he couldn’t. 

Until they day he haded in his last paper and he asked Shiro if he wanted to get coffee later. 

He was a little surprised when Shiro said yes.

[note to self that there’s some funky stuff going on with the POV in this. I either need to streamline it to be all one pov, keith or shiro, or, i need two sections, one for both of them. ]

It didn’t take much for it to escalate from there. 

Keith supported Shiro through the loss of his arm, of his dream to be a pilot, and an astronaut. 

Even the bad nights, when Keith cradled Shiro against his chest, drenched in sweat and hiding his sobs, there had never been a moment where he ever thought of leaving Shiro. 

Shiro has been the one constant in Keith’s life, even after he found his mom. Keith would never even think about leaving Shiro’s side. 

They do have to work at separate universities for several years, and it’s tough, the commutes, the hours, the class schedules that seem to be the complete opposite of one another. 

But they made it work. At least until Keith was able to get a job at Garrison.

Now, sixteen years later, they’re still together. And working at the same place for the first time ever. 

Keith loves being able to drop by Shiro’s office to say hi, to see him talking with students on the center green quad in campus. 

(They also may have behaved somewhat inappropriately on school grounds but no one has to know that. Thank god Shiro’s office doesn’t have a security camera.)

Still, as much as he loves Shiro, it took Keith a while after they got married to change his last name to Shirogane, too. 

Maybe it was the hope that keeping the same last name would help his mom find him. 

Assuming she was even looking. 

But then he’d given up the ghost and she’d found him anyways, through one of his old mentors, Kolivan. 

Life is funny that way. 

Which brings him back to the bet. 

It started three years ago, when Keith began teaching at G.U.

He spent a lot of time dropping by Shiro’s classes, and his office, and just. In general. 

It was enough to make people start talking, wondering what their relationship was. 

A few even thought that Shiro had chosen a student for the object of his clandestine affair, mostly because there isn’t that much overlap between the arts and the STEM students. 

Still. They’d had different last names. 

And so, the bet. 

Every year, the incoming freshman end up noticing that Keith and Shiro are…particularly close. 

And it’s always fun to see how long it’ll take for people to realize they’re married. 

There’s always a back and forth, an “are they or aren’t they” that’s amusing to watch from the outside. 

Keith can admit that from the outside, they don’t necessarily act like a normal couple. Pet names are rare, private things for the two of them, and while they do tend to orbit around one another’s personal space, it’s in soft, subtle ways that someone else could, concievably, view as platonic. 

And so, the first year Keith worked at the Garrison, he’d sort of flown under the radar. He always insists that his own students call him by his first name—too many years of “yes, sir”’s growing up had given him an aversion to that sort of socially constructed authority. 

Shiro, being Shiro, and the best person Keith has ever or ever will know, saw fit to invite his third year seminar on dark matter and black holes to their house for an informal dinner at the end of the semester. Shiro’s course was one of the gateway options for those who wanted to write an honors thesis before graduating, and culminated in a grueling forty page research paper. 

Third year also meant that they were able to drink, legally, if they wanted too, and after that research paper they absolutely wanted to. 

Mostly, Keith’s loving the way Shiro looks in that sweater and he wants to run his hands all over him and then under the sweater too. 

But. [God this is all over the place.] That had been the first year that they’d had the bet. 

It wasn’t their idea. It actually came from Shiro’s students, all of whom had gotten used to seeing Keith around, talking to Shiro, and who had started a pool amongst themselves as to the exact nature of their relationship. 

As it turned out, the mystery lasted until the start of dinner. They’d invited a few other professors over, too, and it wasn’t necesarilly that odd for Keith to be thre. 

Except when Kosmo came up to him and he said “this is our dog.” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this is a very rough draft, and i was switching things around a lot so it's quite rough, thanks for sticking with it anyways!


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